Christmas 2014

December 25th

When my elderly parents moved to Texas to be near me in 2003, it was just before Thanksgiving.  Little did they know that their lives were changing in difficult ways that went beyond a simple move across country.  Mom’s debilitating stroke that occurred upon their arrival to Texas, made even the most “simple moves” difficult.

As Dad settled into their tiny apartment, Mom settled into life in various hospitals, rehabs, nursing homes, etc.  Although my dad was sad and grieving, his laughter continued to flow easily, but as the months passed and Mom’s recovery slowed, her hope began to fade and her smile got lost.

In the days, months and even years that followed, it became my goal to bring that smile back to her face.  Going anywhere was laborious, but that grin was worth it, though it did not always come.  We went to movies, out to eat, played Bingo, came to the house, etc.    The most successful occasions were when I had a litter of ragdoll kittens playing all around her and the first few times my horses nuzzled her outstretched hand.  God bless them.  It was a real smile that stemmed from her love for animals.  Our golden retriever also had a way of bringing her to life, and she called to him in her stroke affected voice that I came to love so very much.

After my dad died, I decided to do whatever it took to get Mom to the Christmas Eve candlelight service at our church.  It was cold and dark and 20 miles away, and her tolerance for excursions in the van outfitted for handicap travel had become almost nil.  My husband,  ever the servant hearted, drove to the nursing home and successfully situated her wheelchair at the end of our row.  She was finally in the midst of My Community - people I’ve laughed and cried with for more years than I can count. Her presence there brought on a torrent of tears.  I felt like the guys who had carried their sick friend across town and lowered him through the roof so he could be near  Jesus.   I cried and I cried, because that’s all I really wanted:  for her to be near Jesus.   

Last night, we had that same candlelight service and it’s been 8 years since she left us. It will always be a reminder to me of the night my mom sat in her wheelchair at the end of my row. How the  pain of trying to make her life better rolled down my cheeks.  

I miss you, Mom, and I am thinking of you today.

The Intangibles

Yesterday I posted about God’s provision in my early years with Him. His miraculous provision encompassed more than finances, but often they were the need through which He showed Himself loving and present.

Now my need is for wisdom, for grace, for understanding, for love that is bigger than my own.

I need to remember the many things I’ve been released from as I struggle through some deep disappointments and fears.

Money is simply training ground for true riches - those intangible things in the here and now that really will last forever - that’s what I’m living for, believing for, waiting on.

Now is my chance to bring that exclamation of marvel from my Father’s heart. I choose to trust Him. I choose to believe that when it looks like He’s sound asleep, He is still in control, ready to calm the waves and wind with just one word.

I’m believing that when my heart hits a wall, he’s here to help me walk through it. His hand is open and outstretched, and when I don’t have the strength to hang on to Him, He’s got me.

And He’s got you, too. We are in this together.

Remembering

In the early 80’s, I remember praying and telling God with tears that it was hard for me to spend the little money I had on toiletries. (To give you an idea, my tithe was $1.73!) I asked Him to please help me with this and then forgot about it, not telling anyone. Not long after, I received a box in the mail from my mother, filled with shampoo, conditioner, and lotion samples that she and my dad had acquired in their travels. I was blown away - so small and yet so huge!

On the morning of a doctor’s appointment, I found $20 in my shoes. (This happened several times.)

One time, while traveling, my alarm clock broke. After a concert I had performed somewhere in CA, a woman I had attempted to share Christ with on an airplane months before, came to hear us sing. She came to the concert and afterward handed me a small box, wrapped up in pretty paper. You guessed it: an alarm clock!

These are the “small” things, but they are just as significant as the much needed “ram in the thicket” gifts that came unexpectedly when needed. (Like the desperately needed $5000 that came from a church I'd never been to.)

The wonderful part of all this is that He hasn’t changed, He continues to provide grace and strength for each day, one day at a time. I have learned that one day is all that I can handle, anyway.

Remembering Him and all that He does is hydrating to the heart.

Six Weeks

Six weeks ago, I was figuring out how to get to Wheaton, IL, where my husband, Burt, was about to undergo emergency bypass surgery.

My first instinct for help in quick traveling, was to call Frank De Jong, and that instinct proved to be correct! Within minutes, he was at my door, a printed itinerary in hand, with the mission of getting me and my hastily packed bag to the DFW airport in record time. That 80 plus miles blurred past my window, as I texted family and friends, and spoke with the OR nurse who felt so very far away.

As my plane began taxiing, I had one last medical interaction as the Physician's Assistant called to let me know Burt was wide open on the operating table and things were in full swing.

My last nine years with horses have contributed to my ability to live in the moment - not an hour ahead or behind - and I believe this mindset helped me to endure that flight as I played a mindless game on my phone. Arms of grace wrapped around my heart, and held me in perfect peace.

As the plane was about to land, I mentioned to my seat mate that my husband was having unexpected open heart surgery as we flew, and she looked rather wide eyed, trying to find appropriate words. My phone rang as we hit the pavement of the O'Hare runway and I was updated on the surgery as if I were merely in the waiting room a few feet away.

All was well, Burt was doing great, the bypass was complete and they were going to start sewing him up.

This is the face that greeted me when I finally got to his side at dinnertime that evening, minutes after the respirator was taken out.

My husband, helpless on his back, smiled at me.

He's still smiling, and I am smiling back.

Something I wrote in January and never got around to pushing the "publish" button...

January 6th

The reality of going to Hyderabad, India in about four weeks is beginning to press itself into the fore front.

Although the Christmas decorations and tree have been mostly cleared out, they remain in their boxes on the front porch and behind the couch, waiting to be lugged to their place in the “barn”. 

I wasn’t quite ready to let go of the warm glow of my pretty village houses and lit garlands for a year, their beauty was still bringing a smile to my heart.  But, my husband - willingly and of his own accord - just started dealing with it.  I’m no dummy, so I just sat here on the couch, determinedly knitting my first pair of booties, and I let him do it.  All. By. Himself.  Twenty four hours later he did harumph a bit when I asked him to please remove the unlit, undecorated tree that was blocking the window.  (The window that brings in the best light of the year into our sometimes dark house. I place a high value on light, and I was ready to let it come shining in.)  So, cold weather and all, the tree has been dragged to it’s place to die.  It is sad, really, because it is the best tree we’ve had in years and it was still alive.  In fact, the way you can tell how fresh and alive a Christmas tree is by how much water it soaks in.  (There's a sermon for ya'!)

Malorie and Austyn have been gone a little over 48 hours.  They left early on Saturday morning and did their drive in a day to beat the snow that met them upon their arrival in Wheaton.  I’m glad they have been able to enjoy a few days tucked into their apartment watching the beautiful snow from their third floor window.  

So, as I said, I’m going to India.  I don’t know why in the world I am going!  I have this latent Mother Teresa living inside of me who pops up her aching head and thrusts me into the third world every few years.  I guess it’s to show myself once again that it’s all really too much for me.  There is only One Person who can actually understand and do anything about the massive problem of human suffering which is rampant throughout the world.  Oh Lord God, how I ache when I look at the pictures of the the lepers we will be visiting.  I hope You will burn purpose into my heart and do something of value through me and within me.  How I need You every hour.

I truly feel that I am sometimes the most selfish being on the planet.  I want rest.  I want quiet.  I want to sit in front of the fire and think thoughts about God and His love.  I’m not really a doer first.  I am more of a be-er.  I can’t put a value judgment on these things, because both are needed.  We’ve all heard a sermon bashing one and lifting the other.  It seems that condemnation lurks, ready to pounce on the religious, willing victim.

So I say, “Get out of here, you religious spirit and leave me alone.  I could never be enough or do enough for you anyway.  Besides, you’re just jealous.  You’re the one with no purpose.  And you’re the one not needed.  So leave me alone.  Amen.”

That said, I think I will stop typing and breathe for a while.

I am in the saddle in front of a lake and it is lightly misting out. 

As the water gently tickles my face, I am reminded of the people with whom I "walked to the gate" as they entered eternity. 

It seemed to me that heaven touched earth for a little while, and it was kind of like the mist I am experiencing now.

I am remembering those goodbyes - comforted - knowing that for them it was a joyous hello.

I love mist.

As parents, most of us love to document the victories and milestones of our children's lives. We take picture after picture and shoot endless footage of brain numbing video because we simply want to remember.

We want to remember their first steps, their first birthdays, even the mundane moments between the happy holiday highlights of November and December.

With this in mind, are there milestones in us that God the Father celebrates and remembers?

What if heaven rejoices when we choose to believe even when our hearts are wrenched with grief?

Does God notice when we worship Him when all around feels oppressive and dark?

I bet it melts His heart when we declare before the forces of darkness that He Is Good No Matter What.  (It is a high honor to have the privilege of walking by faith.)

Being created in His image, we mirror Him in ways we don’t understand; if we celebrate the first steps of our children, surely He celebrates ours.

I look forward to seeing from His Perspective, but for the time being, I imagine My Father's Smile, and it spurs me on.